Banished
by Madebyme
Summary: Lost in a mysterious world, Sam searches for his brother. But Dean's hiding something, and nothing is quite as it seems. Season 10 AU.
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to CW, Kripke and Co, I'm simply borrowing them for a while. I'm not making a profit, this is just for fun and all the standard disclaimers apply.

 **Summary:** Lost in a mysterious world, Sam searches for his brother. But Dean's hiding something, and nothing is quite as it seems. Season 10 AU.

 **Warnings:** Season 10 spoilers, dark themes, violence, language.

 **A/N-** Thank you to my awesome beta – you know who you are. You brainstormed, tweaked and fixed this fic, so thank you for having my six! I've tinkered so all mistakes are mine. This was written for the 2015 summergen challenge on LJ for **tifaching** _._

 **Banished**

Sam's standing in the middle of a field of tall sunflowers, so yellow and bright he has to squint. He's breathing too fast; the air too thin, and his skin feels tight and prickly. He looks up and the sun is shining in a cloudless sky, but he's ice-cold; inside and out.

He stands still, the breeze combing his hair, but the answers to his questions don't come. He doesn't know where he is, or why he's here. There's drying blood on his hands and clothes, and he can feel it sliding down his cheeks like tears, and all he can think about is his brother. He needs to find Dean.

He doesn't have a phone and there are no cars in sight, so he picks a direction and walks.

 **XoXoX**

The field turns into a path, and the path becomes a road, and soon enough there's a gas station. The door is unlocked and when Sam walks inside a cheery bell announces his presence, but the place is empty.

The stack of local newspapers tells Sam that he's in Kansas, so he heads out the door and scans the surroundings. There are no cars at the gas station but Sam finds a busted-up truck parked around the back by a dusty dirt road. The truck is unlocked, and Sam checks the coast is clear before climbing in and hotwiring it. As soon as the engine growls into life, Sam stomps on the gas, swerves on to the main road, and heads towards the settlement he can see on the horizon.

Sam's staring at his mysteriously bruised and bloody knuckles when he realises that he hasn't seen a passing car, or any pedestrians.

He drives down what he assumes is the main street, peppered with small shops, bars and a motel. But everything looks deserted.

He makes a few turns, and finds himself in a residential area, surrounded by large family homes, porch swings, and station wagons. But there's still no people. Maybe they're all at work, or school. But it feels _too_ quiet, and Sam's gut clenches.

He coasts the truck to a stop, leaving it running in the middle of the road, and walks straight into the nearest house. The TV is on, and by the smell of it there's a pot roast cooking in the oven.

"Hello!" Sam yells, but there's no response. He tries next door, and then the next few after that, and then he tries a whole street two towns over.

There's nothing. No people. No animals, or birds or even flies. Nothing.

 **XoXoX**

It's dark when he gets to the bunker, and the place is trashed. Lamps are shattered, and wooden tables and chairs are splintered. In the kitchen most of the crockery is in pieces on the floor, and archive files have been pulled apart; papers and documents carpeting the corridors.

"Dean?" he shouts, over and over as he tears through the place. It's empty.

Sam collapses into a chair in the library, his brain working on overdrive. He needs to focus.

He pulls out his laptop and the internet connection is working fine; there's also news on the TV, and music on the radio. There's even food in the kitchen, and as he starts to tidy up, he takes inventory and everything in the bunker is where it should be. The only thing missing is the Impala.

And his memory—at least of recent events. Trying to pinpoint the last thing he can recall makes him feel light-headed, so he gives up on that and stumbles into what's left of the Men of Letters archives. He knows that somehow it's all linked; whatever he can't remember, whatever he's lost, it's why he's here. Wherever here is.

Clearly the world is still spinning, and as far as Sam can figure it's like he's alone in an empty shut-off segment of it. But he still can't shake the feeling that something else is off too; something deep within himself.

Taking a deep breath, Sam pulls his hair from his face and falls into his research; one problem at a time, right?

 **XoXoX**

Sam starts to lose time as days slide into each other; lost in books, and bloody dreams that he just can't seem to shake.

So when he wakes up one morning in the library, cheek mashed into a book about alternate dimensions, he jumps when he sees Dean standing over him. His brother looks kinda pale, and the freckles that shower his nose are standing out more than Sam remembers.

"I wondered if you'd show up." Dean's tone isn't cold, or harsh, just sort of resigned. He reaches out his hand and then slowly, like he's unsure, places it on Sam's shoulder; his grip tightening by the second.

Dean's still staring and Sam wonders how long he's been here watching over him. Clearing his throat, Sam pushes the chair back and stands, expecting the traditional brotherly embrace that they seem to reserve for situations exactly like this.

But instead Dean pulls his hand back like he's been burnt, and takes a step away. Then he pulls his gaze over to the books on the table. "You're right, it's an alternate dimension. But there's no way out, so I'd quit the book-bashing if I were you." Then Dean walks past Sam towards his bedroom.

Sam frowns, confused by Dean's reaction as well as his words. But it seems that Dean knows far more about this situation than Sam does.

Taking large strides, Sam heads down the corridor and bursts into Dean's room.

"You know what happened? Why we're here?" Sam tries not to raise his voice but after so long searching for answers, it hurts that Dean won't just share what information he has with his own damn brother.

Dean's lying on his back on the bed, arms folded under his head as he feigns sleep. "Well, yeah. I do now. You don't remember?"

"Clearly not, or I wouldn't be asking."

Dean sits up, and locks his gaze on Sam; his eyes shadowed and haunted, his shoulders slumped and worn, like he's let his guard down. He looks like he's barely holding on, which is exactly how Sam feels. "A field of yellow sunflowers?"

Sam nods, his heart pounding behind his ribs. Shit, for some reason he feels like he's gonna cry.

"You'll figure it out." Dean's tone is gentle, his eyes so big and green that Sam can't stop staring at them. "Just like I had to."

 **XoXoX**

They travel, and eventually Sam stops drilling Dean for information that he just won't share. But sometimes Dean disappears for a day or so, leaving Sam alone and on edge. He always comes back, but he refuses to talk about it.

They drive hundreds and thousands of miles on empty freeways, seeing sights they've never seen before, and some that they have. They visit area 51, and the White House, and every possible place they can think of.

They fill the gas tank to the brim with gas they don't pay for, eat fresh food from abandoned supermarkets, and sleep in random houses filled with someone else's comfy sofas and dirty dishes.

At first Sam bitches, because it's weird, this is other people's stuff. But eventually he learns to accept what Dean tells him, because there's no other way to survive being here.

The night they make it to Badlands National Park in a massive pimped-out motor home, the Impala towed behind them, Sam asks Dean whether the people they used to know, the people they've left behind in their old world, still remember them.

"Does it matter?" Dean's sitting on a folding chair, the green cooler next to him, sipping on a beer. "Maybe we're better off here, y'know? Maybe the world's a safer place without us in it."

Sam snaps his head to the side, staring at his brother. "You don't really mean that."

Dean doesn't say anything, just shrugs a shoulder and stares up at the starry night sky.

 **XoXoX**

Sam can't sleep and he's staring at his still unhealed bloody and bruised knuckles; actually, he hasn't had a proper night of shut-eye since he got here. He looks over at Dean, who's out for the count, a half-empty bottle of bourbon lying on the floor between them. Apparently some things don't change, because even here it's the only thing that stops the nightmares.

He watches Dean for a while before he hauls off the blankets and rummages through all his brother's stuff; his duffle, his pockets, the motor home, the Impala, everywhere. He's not exactly sure what he's looking for, but figures he'll know when he sees it.

He finds them buried deep in the bottom of Dean's duffle in a secret pocket neatly stitched into the lining. He stares at them for a while, fingertips stroking the torn and frayed edges, and it's like a trigger has been pulled; he remembers, and now everything makes sense.

 **XoXoX**

On their way back to the bunker, Dean pulls into the parking lot of a bar a few miles outside of Lebanon.

The place is a mess, like someone has smashed everything they can find with a crow bar; trashing glasses, bottles, even the plasterboard walls. Anything and everything.

Dean walks into the back room, boots crunching over broken glass, and when he comes back he's carrying a top-shelf bottle of scotch. He unscrews it, and takes a swig.

Then Dean slams the family photographs that Sam found the other night onto the bar. "How long have you known?"

"Since Badlands," Sam says, looking down at the image of Dean, just a boy, baby-faced and innocent. But even then, arms wrapped protectively around his little brother. "But maybe before," he confesses, his thumb brushing against the bloodstain that streaks the corner of the photo. "I think there's always been a part of me that knew."

"Were you going to mention it to me?" Dean takes another pull of the scotch.

Sam breathes deeply. He's been battling with himself over the same question. "I don't-"

"I killed you, Sam!" Dean yells, hurling the scotch bottle. Sam ducks and it smashes into the wall behind him. "I took off your head with a scythe that Death put in my hand, and I'm not even sure I regret it."

Sam freezes, his blood running cold as he watches his brother walk from one side of the room to the other like a deadly caged animal.

"You need to stay the hell away from me!" Dean storms out of the room and a few seconds later Sam hears the engine start and the squeal of tires burning skid marks onto the tarmac.

 **XoXoX**

Dean doesn't come back to bar, so Sam starts walking. It's pitch black outside by the time he gets back to the bunker.

He makes it to the bottom of the metal staircase when he hears his brother. "I told you to stay away!"

Sam hesitates for a moment before walking into the library. The place is a mess. Books have been thrown off bookshelves, pages torn and spines broken. Some of the furniture has been upturned and tossed to the other side of the room, and some of it lies in piles that Sam has to walk over and around.

Without warning something barrels into him, shoving him backward until his back slams into the wall.

"Even in this empty place, I still crave blood and murder." Dean's tone is low and dangerous, his hands clutching Sam's shirt, the red brand of the Mark of Cain visible. "Sometimes I wake up and it's all I can think about. So I trash stuff. That's all I can do. So Sam, you gotta get out of here now before I-"

"Before you what?" Sam pins his gaze on his brother. "You can't kill me again, Dean. I'm already dead!"

Dean's breathing hard, his chest rising and falling. But Sam's words seem to hit hard and he lets go of Sam's shirt and backs away, holding his hands out in surrender.

Sam stares at his brother, or at the hollowed-out shell that's left of him. "I know you, Dean, and you've always been capable of killing, since we were kids. You could always do whatever it takes—to _protect_ someone else. But _this_ isn't who you are. You can trash everything here, you can beat the shit of me, but the Mark still won't define you; it's not who you are!"

Sam pushes himself off the wall and takes a step towards to his bother. "You saved the world, Dean, and that part is all you."

Dean looks down at his bloodied hands, full of splinters and broken skin, and then he falls down to his knees, tears clinging to his eyelashes. Sam sinks down to the floor next to his brother and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. He wraps it carefully around Dean's hands.

"I've got you. You're not alone. I've got you."

 **XoXoX**

Dean spends most of the next day locked in his room, and Sam pours all his energy into tidying the bunker and moving in new furniture that he finds in a storage room.

When he gets out of the shower later that night, he heads for the library and finds Dean waiting for him, nursing a large tumbler of cheap bourbon. His fingers are kneading into his rusty-coloured stubble, his bruised eyes craving sleep.

"You can't stay here." Dean's voice is hoarse and broken. "Death put me here so that I can safeguard the Mark for an eternity; and that's on me. But you can't be exiled here too, you belong in heaven. You deserve that, Sam. You've earned it."

Sam takes a stuttered breath. Maybe he's here because his blood is on the family photos, or maybe he's just tied to Dean, but whatever it is, Sam can't seem to make himself care. He's a ghost, and apparently the rules surrounding that are different in this world.

"I don't know, Dean." Sam looks around the bunker and then lets his gaze settle on his brother; the only home he's ever really known, and the only place he truly feels that he belongs. "This looks a lot like heaven to me."

Dean huffs, scrubbing his palms over his eyes and the back of his head. He pours Sam a glass of bourbon, and slides it across the polished desk. When he looks up his eyes are bloodshot and filled with unshed tears. "It does get kinda lonely here."

Sam smiles. He sinks into a chair at the table, and takes a sip of his bourbon. "Well then, I guess I'm staying."

The End

 **A/N: –** I hope you enjoyed this. Until next time, take care :)


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